


All My Pictures Seem To Fade To Black And White

by Bibabybi



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, I'm really bad at titles, M/M, title is from Elton John's Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me, tw homophobia, tw violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibabybi/pseuds/Bibabybi
Summary: “D-D-Do-Don’t say th-that,” Bill says softly, eyes never leaving the photograph.How many times had Stan told him to put it somewhere safer?  How many times had he begged him not to leave it in his wallet?  How many times had he insisted he would end up exactly where he was now?“What?” The older boy grins maliciously. “Faggot?”---Bill carries a photo of him and Stan in his wallet at all times.  He knows the risks, knows what would happen if someone spotted it.  But he likes the feeling of having a miniature Stan in his pocket at all times.  He likes the reminder of their love.  Unfortunately, the day that risk becomes all too real is creeping up on him.





	All My Pictures Seem To Fade To Black And White

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

Bill smiles softly. “That’s alright.It’s only a few m-minutes away.”

Stan glances behind him, eyes glazing over slightly.Bill knows what he’s thinking, and he wants nothing more than to lean over and kiss his worries away.But he can’t.Not here, not now.So he settles on a simple squeeze of the shoulder instead.

“I’ll be fuh-fine.”

It’s a struggle to even keep eye contact.He doesn’t feel fine, he never feels fine.Every turn he makes, he expects to see _it_ there.He expects razor-sharp teeth and laser beam eyes and clawed fingers that are just ever so slightly too long.

But the lie is apparently strong enough for Stan.

His lips tug into a small smile.It’s barely there, a person less acquainted with Stan might miss it entirely, but it makes Bill’s heart soar nonetheless.

For a moment he imagines kissing that smile.He supposes it’s nothing special, just a quick peck of the lips.But the thought of doing it here, in the middle of the local diner with nearly a dozen people milling around, makes his heart pound.

“Buh-Buh-Besides,” he says, taking a step back before he can’t help himself. “I wouldn’t want you to be late.It’s an im-important day today.”

Stan hums softly. “So important that I got lunch paid for by my favorite person on Earth.”

Bill ducks his head in a rather pathetic attempt to hide his blush.Nearly a year and Stan is still able to make Bill red as a tomato with a surprising amount of ease.

“Exactly,” Bill squeaks out.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be late,” Stan says. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Great,” says Bill, feeling breathless. “I’ll see you luh-later then?”

“You better.”

The walk home isn’t far, but that doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying.

Bill tries to distract himself from the bottomless pit in his stomach by going over the details.He’s not sure how much good it really does, but it’s better than constantly glancing over his shoulder.He’s sure the people in this town are starting to think he’s crazy.

But he can’t think about that right now.Worrying about worrying is no better than just plain worrying.So he instead busies himself with the checklist in his head.

Candles?Check.

Matches?Check.

Candy?Check.

Cheap wine from his parents cellar?Check.

The positivity that his parents wouldn’t notice?Half-check.

Blankets?Check.

Stanley’s favorite movies?Check.One hundred percent.

The checklist does help distract him, and for awhile he’s grateful for that.But he’s forgotten that it’s never a good idea to be too distracted in a place like Derry.

He doesn’t even register the car grumbling quietly behind him until it’s too late.

A hand clamps tightly over his mouth, another twisting around his chest and arms to pull him firmly against the person attached.The person is clearly a lot bigger than Bill, but that doesn’t stop him from kicking and screaming to the best of his abilities.Which, unfortunately, isn’t much at the moment.

More voices spill out from the car, and while Bill can’t catch everything they say, he catches enough to know he’s in some deep shit.

“Get him in the car, dude!”

“Holy fucking shit!”

“I’m trying!Come out here and fucking help me!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?You can’t handle a fucking kid?”

“Dude, hurry!”

“Well he’s not exactly being fucking compliant now, is he?”

No matter how much he struggles, the person seems to pull him over to the car with relative ease.

The person slams him against the side of said car, hardly noticing how Bill’s head bounces off the top.

“Hurry!”

“Dude, where’s the fucking rope?”

“Man, relax!”

“I can’t fucking relax, don’t tell me to relax!”

As he says this, another pair of hands tugs Bill’s arms roughly behind his back.Bill squirms and fights and even manages to kick a shin once or twice, but the fight still ends with an old rope around his wrists.

“Give me those.”

“What the fuck?Man, I need those.”

“I’m not fucking holding him like this the whole way.”

“Oh _fuck you_.”

The hand around his mouth releases itself, but before Bill has a chance to yell for help, it’s quickly replaced by something soft and frighteningly wet being shoved through his lips.

Bill realizes with a not-so-well disguised gag that they’re socks.Unwashed socks at that.

“Now hurry, dude!”

“Get him in the car!”

“Not the fucking backseat, man!”

“Where the fuck do you want me to put him then?”

“The fucking trunk!”

“He won’t fit in the fucking trunk!”

“Yes he fucking will!Just might have to break a bone or two.”

Images of Eddie’s broken arm - bent at all the wrong angles - flash across Bill’s mind.

His screams are muffled against the socks.He’s positive no one else is going to hear him, but he screams nonetheless.

It takes two of the people to get him in the trunk (bones all unbroken, thank God) and Bill feels almost proud he made life that much more difficult for them.But then the trunk is slammed closed and Bill is alone.

The space is small, as most trunks usually are.Bill’s never thought of himself as a claustrophobic person, and yet he is finding it a little difficult to breathe.

He kicks furiously at the ceiling.Maybe someone will hear him.Maybe he’ll find a soft spot and kick a hole.Maybe this is all just a bad dream and he’ll wake up a moment later, thrashing violently beneath the covers.

But none of this happens.

The only thing kicking succeeds in doing is pissing off the people who are currently driving the car.

He learns this after either five minutes or five hours (he’s not sure which, but knows it’s a long enough period of time to make his legs numb), when the car finally pulls over and the trunk is popped open.

This is the first time Bill gets a real good look at them.There are three of them, all boys.They look young, probably only a few years older than Bill himself.

One of them has a lopsided Mohawk.The sides are patchy and uneven.For a moment Bill imagines the kid sitting on his bathroom floor, shaving off chunks of his hair only to realize he had misjudged where the center of his head is.In a better situation, it might have made him laugh.

The second kid has a knife.That’s the first thing Bill notices.And as far as he’s concerned, it’s the most important.

The third kid is obviously the leader.He’s placed in the middle, arms crossed over a bulky chest and car keys dangling from between his fingers.He stares down at Bill with what almost looks to be a smirk.It makes Bill’s insides shrivel.

“You’re going to ruin my car,” he sneers.

Bill blinks up at him.He imagines kicking him square in the nose.

“Get him up,” The Leader says, snapping sharply at Mohawk and Knife Guy.

He disappears quickly from Bill’s vision, leaving the other two to pull him out.He goes limp, a form of silent protest, but it doesn’t do any good.He’s forced to his knees, dead grass crackling against his jeans.

The Leader is leaning against a tree about a foot or two away, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

“Do you know why you’re here, kid?” he says nonchalantly, as he lifts a lighter to the cigarette. “Because rumor has it you’re somehow responsible for the arrest of Henry Bowers.Made him go crazy.” His eyes flicker down to meet Bill’s. “That true?”

Bill doesn’t answer.Well, he can’t.Because he has socks in his mouth.But even if he didn’t, he still wouldn’t have answered.He still doesn’t fully understand what Leader is getting at here.

“Henry and I were buddies, did you know?” he continues.He takes a step forward. “We had big plans, you know.” Another step. “Big plans.” Another. “But now he’s gone.” Another. “Because of you.”

He stops directly in front of Bill.He’s close enough now that Bill can smell the sweat gathering on his clothes.

“How’d you do it?”

Bill can hardly hear him over the rush of blood in his ears.

_Smack!_

“_How’d you do it!_”

Bill’s cheek stings.He swears he can still feel the warm impression of a hand against his skin long after the slap is done.

Something hot stings the back of his eyes, and panic quickly rises in his chest.He can’t cry.Not here.Not in front of them.

Leader catches his chin in a vice-like grip, yanking his head sharply so they’re eye to eye.

“Tell me.”

Leader’s breath washes over Bill’s face.It reeks of old sausages and boiled eggs. It makes Bill’s lunch churn in his stomach.

But luckily, none of it comes up.The only thing to come out of his mouth is his own muffled voice, garbled by the socks between his cheeks.

The leader jerks his head towards Bill.It’s so quick that for a moment Bill fears (hopes) his head will topple right off.

But it doesn’t.Bill’s almost disappointed.

Instead, Knife Guy appears at Leader’s side.He pries Bill’s lips apart with the knife, grinning at how the younger boy flinches.Then the socks are gone.They now reside in Knife Guy’s free hand, complete with a regrettable grimace.The look of disgust at the saliva-soaked socks gives Bill a small victory.

But it doesn’t last long.

Leader tangles his fingers in Bill’s hair, twisting his wrist until Bill hisses in pain.

“Tell me,” he says, voice far too casual for someone who just kidnapped a teenager. “How’d you do it?”

“I duh-didn’t,” Bill says.His voice is surprisingly steady, if a little out of breath.

“Liar!” Leader twists his hand harder, relishing in the feeble cry Bill lets out.

“How exactly do you th-th-think I muh-made him...do that?”

“I d-d-d-don’t know!” Leader leans in closer for the taunt. “That’s why I’m fucking asking!”

“And so polite.”

Leader finally lets go of his hair, but with such force that Bill finds himself suddenly on the ground.Leader towers over him, teeth bared and chest heaving.

“Don’t play smart with me!” he roars.

Bill holds his gaze.He won’t let him get to him so easily.

“Fine,” Leader sneers. “We can do this the hard way.”

A swift kick is delivered to Bill’s ribs.He grinds his teeth to stifle the cry that escapes him, but it’s no use.Leader catches it, grinning nastily down at him.His ribs are offered another blow.He quickly curls in on himself.If this continues much longer, he’s gonna have a few broken ribs on his hands.And he doesn’t think he can brush those off quite as easily.

The kicks slow eventually.Leader seems to get bored delivering blows to a rag doll.

He crosses to Mohawk, muttering something Bill can’t be bothered to hear.

A moment later Mohawk’s at his side.Bill shies away from his hands, but it’s no use.His wallet’s quickly tugged out of his pocket, and Mohawk hold it up triumphantly.

“Dude, there’s like ten bucks in here,” he says.

“Sweet,” says Knife Guy, snatching the bills out of his hands.

“Hey, I found it!”

“Yeah, but I grabbed it!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!”

“Shut up!” Leader snaps.He holds out his hand and, with a grumbled swear, Knife Guy places the money in his palm. “Thank you.What else.”

“Not much,” says Mohawk. “Just some arcade coins, receipts, whatever this is...” His voice trails off, leaving his words hanging in the air. “Holy shit.”

Bill’s stomach drops.

“What is it?” Knife Guy exclaims.He peeks over his shoulder, snorting loudly. “Oh my God.” He grins over at Leader, but there’s nothing pleasant about his smile. “Check this out.”

Leader crosses to their side, quirking his eyebrow at the paper in Mohawk’s hand.Silently, he plucks the paper out from between Mohawk’s fingers and starts to make his way back towards Bill.

As he does, Bill sends a silent prayer to anyone who even _might_ be listening.Please don’t let that be what he knows it is.Please, please, please, please, _please_.

Leader squats in front of him, shoving the paper towards Bill’s face.Bill has to blink a few times before the picture comes into focus.Not that he really needs to.He would recognize that photo anywhere.

Bill has his arms wrapped tightly around Stan’s waist, whose legs are thrown carelessly over his lap.Stan’s placing a large kiss on his cheek, one hand holding his face in place, while Bill grins wildly at the camera.

The photo is soft and tender and everything that reminds him of Stan and it makes everything that much goddamn worse.

“This your boyfriend?” Leader asks, voice dripping false sweetness.

Bill doesn’t answer.The heat behind his eyes is back.

“Looks like we caught ourselves a faggot, boys.”

Mohawk and Knife Guy cackle in the background.They remind Bill of the hyenas he saw in the zoo all those years ago.The ones Georgie was always too scared to get close to, even with the glass guarding them.The memory’s like salt in an open wound.

“D-D-Do-Don’t say th-that,” he says softly, eyes never leaving the photograph.

How many times had Stan told him to put it somewhere safer?How many times had he begged him not to leave it in his wallet?How many times had he insisted he would end up exactly where he was now?

“What?” Leader grins maliciously. “Faggot?”

Bill winces at the word.He tries to hide it, he really does.And he thinks he does a pretty good job.He manages to diminish it to a small twitch of his head, something that would be almost impossible to catch by someone standing a normal distance away.Unfortunately, Leader is directly in his face.And he notices right away.

“Don’t like that, huh?”

Bill keeps his eyes locked on the photo.

He desperately wants it.Those hands don’t deserve to hold it.They don’t deserve anything that radiates the energy of Stan Uris.He needs to protect it from them.

But his hands are still tied behind him.No matter how hard he tugs, the ropes don’t seem to get any looser.All it does is rip the skin off his wrists a little bit more.

“Puh-Please don’t h-hurt him,” he forces out, feeling as if he’s choking on the words.

“Aw, I was thinking we could pay him a visit,” Leader says, an overdramatic pout on his lips.He turns the photo to face himself, and Bill immediately feels an ache deep in his chest. “He’s cute enough, sure would be a shame if something happened-”

“Fuck you.”

The words tumble out of his mouth with such venom that it shocks himself almost as much as it shocks Leader.

“What did you just say to me?” Leader hisses, leaning closer ever so slightly.

Bill spits directly onto Leader’s face. “I said fuck you.”

Leader lets out an animalistic cry, and lunges forward to grasp Bill’s hair once more.He yanks him to his feet, slamming him against the car with enough force to make him see stars.

“_You fucking brat!_” Leader screams, spit flying everywhere.

A burning sensation creeps quickly across Bill’s cheek.He nearly grinds his teeth to dust with the realization that Leader’s cigarette has been put out on his face.Or, more precisely, Leader’s cigarette has been hurriedly smashed into his face.

But there’s not much time to process this.Bill’s head snaps backwards as Leader’s knuckles connect with his cheekbone, directly over the cigarette burn.Unfortunately, there’s nowhere for his head to go and it slams into the car behind him with a worrying _thud_.

“_What the fuck is your problem!_”

Leader’s knuckles are against his jaw now.

Has Bill’s mouth always tasted this coppery?

“_Think you can just fucking do stuff like that?_”

His eye.

“_You’re the one with a fucking problem!_”

His nose.

His head is starting to feel like one giant bruise.

“You’re like a walking disease.” This one isn’t followed by any punches.Instead it’s hissed directly into his ear, fingers digging hand-shaped bruises into his shoulders as they press him against the car.Bill’s beginning to very much dislike this car.

Leader tosses him back to the ground with about as much care he would if tossing a sack of flour.Leader prods him onto his stomach with the tip of his boot.As much as Bill tries to resist, one swift kick to his already bruising ribs is all he needs to make him comply.He can feel one of the boots firmly on his back.Hazily, he wonders how upset Stan will be when he finds out Bill got his jacket dirty.

“Give me that,” he hears Leader say, though the words sound muffled.As if Bill’s hearing them underwater.

A moment later Leader’s kneeling down next to him, replacing the boot against the small of his back with a knee.He tugs at Bill’s still bound arms, straightening them out like an artist smoothing out their canvas.Something cold as ice runs smoothly up and down Bill’s arm.And for a moment he can’t figure out what it is.His brain feels just as battered and bruised as the rest of his face, how is it supposed to recognize every foreign object?But then it clicks.The fucking knife.

He starts to struggle, but he’s exhausted and it only takes one more pair of hands to force him into place.

“I just want you to know,” Leader says, poising the point against Bill’s skin. “You deserve this.”

The last thing Bill remembers is a blinding pain in his wrist and the taste of dirt and blood as a scream he never gets the chance to hear rips itself out of his throat.

By the time he wakes up, the three boys are gone.The car is gone.The knife is gone.

But he’s still here.His entire body still aches.He has no idea how badly his arm is bleeding.And it’s dark out.

He wants to roll over and go back to sleep.He wants to stay here until he sinks into the dirt and never has to feel anything ever again.

But then something catches his eye.

The photo of him and Stan is sitting less than a foot away. It’s barely visible in the darkness and it’s been ripped in two, but it still causes the same reaction.

In the blink of an eye, he’s wide awake.

Stan.Fuck.He was supposed to be there who knows how long ago.

With a groan, Bill pushes himself to his knees.It takes awhile, and he spends most of the time with his face in the dirt, but by the time he’s upright he can get himself to stand with very little problem.

He wants desperately to take the photo with him.It feels wrong to leave it here, at the scene of the crime.It deserves to come with him, it deserves a chance to be safe.But his hands are still bound and he has no way of grabbing it without the threat of falling down again.

So he leaves it behind.

The walk back home is long.That’s the one word he can think of to describe it.Long.He hardly knows where it is and the dark makes everything look the same, so it takes twice the time it normally would to even get back to his neighborhood.

But once he starts to recognize houses, it’s not long before his own porch light comes into view.And sitting beneath it, head in his hands, is Stan.

Bill resists the urge to run to him.He can barely walk and he doesn’t like the thought of what this cement would do to his already broken face.

“Bill?”

Bill lets out a shaky laugh, wincing when a sharp stab of pain goes through his ribs. “H-Hey.”

“Where have you been?” Stan bites. “I have been waiting for-” Bill can feel the rant building up, but it comes to a halting stop as soon as Bill steps into the light.Stan shoots to his feet, hand flying out to graze over Bill’s cheek. “What the fuck happened?”

“Someone punched their c-cigarette into my fuh-face.”

“Jesus Christ, alright.”

“Muh-My keys are in my pocket,” Bill murmurs, breathing a sigh of relief that the boys didn’t take that too.

Stan silently fishes said keys out of Bill’s jeans before turning to unlock the door.He ushers Bill hurriedly into the bathroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bathtub.

“Is something wrong with your arms?” Stand asks tentatively.

“They’re s-s-stuck.”

“Stuck?” Stan peeks behind him, sucking in a sharp breath. “Okay.” His voice sounds small and unsure, but he settles into the bathtub anyway.Bill can feel his fingers softly against his wrists as he pulls apart the knot. “What did they do to your arm?”

“I dunno.”

“Alright.”

The knot tumbles off Bill’s wrists and he reflexively pulls his arms back towards himself.He rubs his wrists absentmindedly, trying not to flinch at just how raw they are.

“So tell me what happened,” Stan says as he kneels next to him.He’s clutching a damp towel now, though Bill has no memory of him leaving to fetch one, and starts dabbing tentatively at his arm. “You were ambushed?”

“Y-Yeah,” Bill says. “I was walking home and th-they grabbed me.Tuh-Took me into the woods and...” He shrugs, hoping Stan can figure the rest out for himself. “They s-seemed to think I had something to duh-do with Henry Buh-Bowers being arrested.”

“That’s ridiculous,” grumbles Stan.

“I-I know.Buh-But then they fuh-found my-”

He’s cut off by a soft gasp.Stan is staring at his arm, knuckles going white around the towel.

“Wh-What?” Bill murmurs, reaching out with his free hand to run his fingers through Stan’s hair.

“Do you know what this says?” Stan whispers, voice wobbly.

Bill shakes his head.Says?Why would it say anything?

Stan silently places his arm on Bill’s lap, and it only takes one glance for Bill’s stomach to drop.Because without the mess of blood, the cuts spell out a very clear message: FAG.

“My wallet,” Bill says, voice barely audible. “Th-They found muh-my w-wallet.The puh-puh-picture.”

Stan sighs heavily.Bill knows what he’s thinking: I told you so.I told you to hide it.I told you this would happen.

Luckily, Stan’s kind enough not to voice these opinions.

He focuses instead on silently bandaging Bill’s wrist.His fingers are feather light the whole time, as if he’s afraid too much force will break Bill in half. Normally, he would hate this treatment.As if he’s some fragile bird who can’t handle the slightest bit of force.

But it’s different with Stan.

Stan finishes the bandaging with a soft press of his lips against the injured area.It makes Bill’s heart flutter.

“You’re beautiful.”

Stan’s voice is so honest that the only response Bill can muster is a barely audible, “Oh.”

“You always are.Despite all of this-” he brushes a finger lightly over Bill’s cheekbone, frowning when he winces. “-you still are.”

Bill smiles softly.He takes Stan’s hands in his own and pulls him closer until Stan’s chest is pressed against his knees.

“Always nice wh-when an angel compliments you.”

A rosy pink creeps across Stan’s cheeks. “That’s ridiculous.”

Bill pulls Stan onto his lap, doing his best to ignore the way it makes his legs ache, and presses a quick kiss to his temple.

“It’s tuh-true.”

Stan, who has never been good at receiving compliments, responds with, “What else did they do to you?”

“Nothing serious.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ruh-Really, I’m fine.”

“That’s not how it looked when you first walked up.”

Bill sighs, trapping his lower lip between his teeth. “You’ve duh-done a good job puh-patching me up.”

Stan gently pinches the bridge of Bill’s nose between his thumb and forefinger. “It doesn’t look like you’ve broken anything else.” Bill hums softly, nuzzling in to Stan’s palm. “Why don’t you go lay down?”

Bill can’t help but think that’s the best idea he’s heard all day.The thought of his bed waiting for him, soft and warm, only a few doors down fills him with a sense of relief he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Despite this, he manages out a soft, “No.Today wuh-was supposed to be s-special.I-”

“Hey.” Stan gently cups his cheeks between his hands, forcing Bill to look him in the eyes. “All that matters is that you’re home safe.Who cares if we didn’t get to have our marathon.They’ll be there tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow isn’t-”

“I know.It’s okay.It’s okay if we’re one night late.”

He leans forward to press a kiss to Bill’s lips, soft and gentle.It makes Bill’s heart melt.

“Are y-you sure?”

Stan nods. “Mhm.Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Bill allows his boyfriend to pull him to his feet, gently wrapping an arm around his waist as Stan directs him into his bedroom.

“You’ll stay h-here, wuh-won’t you?” Bill asks as he tugs off his shoes.

“Of course,” Stan says.

He crawls into the bed, immediately pulling Bill close to his chest.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, carding his fingers through Bill’s hair.

Bill presses a soft kiss to Stan’s collar bone before letting his eyes flutter shut. “Happy anniversary.”


End file.
